Behind Blue Eyes
by Yunami The Dragon
Summary: A brick wall, a fight, and a peek into Seto Kaiba's psyche. Rated for language and something that might, under close scrutiny, seem citrus-scented. Warning: This fic is shonen-aiyaoi. If that offends you, please don't read it. [SetoJou]ONESHOT


"Get the fuck off me, asshole!" Despite the harsh words, all his confident bluster and hard-ass attitude vanished when you threw him up against the wall. He doesn't seem to have expected you to let this confrontation become physical-you never have before. You move in for the kill, pinning him with your body, hip-to-hip, your forearm across his chest and the other resting against the bricks above his head. You lean down, smirking into his face, and he looks nervous.

_Good. He needs to know who his betters are._ "No, I don't think I will. I like it just fine where I am."

"Wh-what do you want from me?" He seems warier now. Has he seen something in your eyes? Maybe. The thought causes your smirk to widen ever so slightly, evan as you ponder how to answer his slightly shaky question.

"What do I want from you, mutt? Hmmm..." You're teasing him, of course. You always know exactly what you want. But you can't just say it-that would never do. He'd probably pass out or something. The full range of your desires would scare him. Just for a moment, you imagine what you could say, if you wanted to really shock him.

_You want him, all of him. You want to be inside him, taking over his senses and claiming him completely. You want to make yourself a permanant part of him, be in him so deep that he'll never get you out of his blood. You want to break him and remake him, overwhelm his mind until there's nothing he wants more than another go, and another and another and another._

You're not sure how or when things changed. You hated him, once. Hated the very sight of him, hated the ground he walked on and the air he breathed. You were obsessed with conquering him, over and over until he would finally be forced to admit that you were his better in every way. You used to picture his face before you fell asleep at night, painted with the stark knowledge of his utter and most final defeat. You pictured him, too beaten and ashamed ever to bother you again. Oh yes, you hated him. And you watched him, waiting for any opening, any chance to infuriate and challenge him.

It was, you sometimes think, in the watching that you found your downfall. Because you stopped seeing him as just another opponent, a wannabe-rival to be ground down into dust beneath your heel, and began to see him as a person. Distantly, you observed his triumphs and his sorrows and his stupid mistakes, and his rare-very rare, you think to yourself-moments of intelligence. You started noticing things: the way his voice always carries further than anyone else's, the way he twitches his bangs out of his eyes when he laughs, the way his face lights up when he sees food or friends. The way his voice goes warm and protective when he talks about his sister.

And then the dreams began. Instead of seeing him broken and defeated every night, he appeared to you as you saw him during the day. Laughing, or roughhousing with his brunette friend, or, most often, red with anger, fists clenched as though he'd rather be throwing punches than insults at you. But then even those dreams changed-the flush of fury to the blush of passion; the hot, angry glare to unfocused eyes dilated with pleasure; flung insults to cries of need; fists clenched in anger to fists clenched in your bed sheets. It was disturbing, and arousing, and very, very wrong. You liked it. You wanted it to stop.

But the dreams didn't go away. And soon, you found, the images became so strong that you were seeing flashes of them in your waking hours, as well. Especially during your daily skirmishes with the mutt. They impeded your ability to concentrate. He began to get the upper hand in one out of every ten fights you had. This could not go on.

But it did. And then, one day, you walked away from one of the usual spats half-hard, and you knew you had a serious problem. You wanted him. Beyond all logic, all reason, beyond all possibility, you wanted him. And only him.

And not just for sex.

_You want to lie, sated and exhausted, and feel him breathing underneath you. You dream of waking up in the morning and seeing him there, spread out and sleeping like a well-fed puppy. You want to explore his body with teeth and tongue and fingertips, bring him slowly to the brink so he wakes with his climax, and then roll him over and have him again. You want to ba able to see him everyday and know that it's your name he screams in the dead of night. That he hungers for you as you do for him. You want to belive, with perfect certainty, that no one else has claim on his body, his time, his emotions the way that you do._

You want him. Well, let it never be said that Seto Kaiba doesn't get what he wants.

All this passes your mind in the blink of an eye, before your head lowers and your lips are brushing against his own. His eyes widen to saucer-size for a long moment before falling shut, accompanied by a soft, slightly plaintive sigh, and his mouth moves tentatively against your own. After several moments, you pull away to gauge his reaction.

His hands, you notice with faint satisfaction, are clenched tight at his sides-to hide a trembling of the fingers that isn't quite anger any more. His body is tensed, but for what? His erection, pressing against your hip where your body pins to the wall, answers that question. It would seem that you're not the only one who's been having dreams. Pleased by the soft sound that's coaxed out when you press back against him, you lower your mouth once more to his, this time drawing his lower lip between your teeth.

The kiss is brief, but passionate, a promise of more to come. When you pull back to let him breathe, he glances up at you from under slightly lowered lids and reminds you, with something like the usual competetiveness in his voice, that you never answered his question.

You allow a faint, fleeting grin to cross your face. "You. That's what I want, puppy. What is it you want from me?"

Before he can answer, you're kissing him again.


End file.
